Grocery Shopping Made Fun and Easy
by Rhianwen
Summary: The joys of going grocery shopping with a young child. A young child with the ability to hide in ANYTHING. A Junior-equivalent-of-five-year-old Junior, a grumpy and tired babysitter: what can go wrong? A better question: what can go right?


Grocery Shopping Made Fun and Easy

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Summary: The joys of going grocery shopping with a young child. Add a young child with the ability to hide in ANYTHING, and you've got yourself one bugger of an evening. A Junior-equivalent-of-five-year-old Junior, a grumpy and tired babysitter, a massive, badly laid-out supermarket, what can go wrong? A better question is: what can go _right_?

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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and every time I take up my...er, keyboard and write something new about them, they hate me just a little bit more. :o)

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The Supermarket.

Grand purveyor of foodstuffs and other household products to a population clamouring for salvation, renewal, and acceptance.

Or at least for some milk and eggs at a good price.

Teeming with life and energy of modern-day hunters who, instinct to kill and feast thwarted by those pesky little murder laws and societal taboos against consuming raw flesh on a public street, turn their attention, constantly, to shopping.

He didn't like it, a young – deceptively young – boy with the woefully unimaginative name of Junior decided as he clung obediently to the fair-haired lady's hand.

And moreover, he continued to mope to himself – in just those words, being a rather remarkable one-and-a-half-year old who looked not a day younger than five – he didn't like being here with a lady who had tried unsuccessfully to fight off a pained expression when informed that she would be needed to look after him for the afternoon.

But Mr. Carpenter had been quite adamant that Wendy be the one to take this babysitting job, for reasons that baffled Junior. After all, several other people had offered to do it instead, muttering to one another once Mr. Carpenter had turned away that the poor girl was going to either drop dead or go bonkers someday from the overwork, and _then_ who would fetch them their tea?

This thought having apparently not occurred to Mr. Carpenter, who said only that they should get used to each other, here they currently were, making a quick stop at the supermarket because, as Wendy had told him, trying to lighten the mood, she might as well have something in the house to feed him.

Years later, it would still confuse him a little as to exactly why his silent, polite node and downcast eyes made her sigh and then suggest in a slightly impatient voice that they hurry, then.

Once inside the store, the scavenger hunt had begun, and he spent the next hour watching in curiosity and mild worry as Wendy set about realizing that not only was the layout of this supermarket much different than the one by this place, but that she had no sense of direction when surrounded by overpriced canned goods on top of that. From here, she had proceeded to get lost and then more and more agitated until he wondered uneasily if dropping dead or going bonkers began something like this.

He never could have told, after the fact, why with this background, he had done as he had. Perhaps it had been a well-meaning attempt to make his unwilling babysitter laugh, or perhaps it had been an impish, childlike desire to make the situation worse. Or perhaps it had been some combination of the two, or perhaps neither.

Whichever it had been, as they had hurried past the snacks and cookies aisle, stopping long enough for him to assure her that he didn't want any sugar-filled snacks, thank-you-anyway, he had abruptly dropped her hand and disappeared into the shelf, between the Fruit Roll-Ups and the Twinkies.

Of course, it had been great fun, hearing her dismayed (and rather R-rated) exclamation – he made a mental note to tell Alex on Monday that yes, Wendy _did _know how to swear, and quite fluently.

And perhaps it was this, or perhaps it was fear of an angry grown-up who, it was whispered, was outright _scary_ when she was mad, that had made him hesitate until she had come sprinting around the corner and towards him, and then dive into the next shelf.

He permitted himself a quick impish smile, refraining from laughter as that just _wasn't him_, as Wendy demonstrated her skill at crafting and wielding profanity, and waited again until she had rounded the corner before vanishing into the next shelf. Of course it was irresponsible to play with his ability this way, but oh! It was fun!

Meanwhile, Wendy was reflecting, between bursts of language that would have turned her mother's hair white with horror and her father's eyes misty with sentimental pride, that it would be fun to get this little white-haired, red-eyed rodent's neck firmly between her hands.

"I hate children," she growled as she bolted into the beverages aisle just in time to see Junior vanish into an economy-sized case of powdered orange juice.

Of course, this was not a problem that one would be likely to have with any other child, or even one that they had ever had with this child, but at that moment, to point out matters of logic to Wendy would have spelled doom for the unfortunate fool who dared to try it.

However, she reflected smugly, he was quickly running out of aisles and it would be much easier to catch him once they hit the produce section.

Assuming he didn't bloody well phase through her and make for the exit.

The vague inkling that the poor thing might be better off if he did so rather than hang about to become the strangest, squishiest bookshelf ever someday did nothing to soothe already frazzled nerves and temper as she bolted down another aisle.

Resisting the urge to simply go directly through the shelf after him and deal later with the damage that this would doubtlessly cause, she ran around the last aisle, just in time to see him pop free of a coffee display and bolt for the fruit stands.

"Hmph! Got you now," she muttered, tearing after him and making a mental note to repeatedly smack Mr. Carpenter for this bright idea of his. Really, it was almost enough to make a girl abandon her starry-eyed crush of five years!

As it turned out, Wendy's assessment of the situation was a little off: she had not, in fact, got him, at least not now.

This was driven ruthlessly home as, with his second impish smile of the day and very possibly of his life, Junior disappeared, unnoticed by anyone other than his horrified and annoyed babysitter, into the crate of cantaloupes directly behind him.

"I hate my job. Like children aren't enough of damned little escape artists anyway, without _this_ added bit of fun," Wendy groaned in despair before taking a long, calming breath and starting over the cantaloupes. "Junior? What are you doing?"

"Hiding," came the brief reply.

"Yes, yes, you are, and I must say, you're doing an excellent job of it," she said pleasantly, valiantly ignoring the one or two shoppers who had stopped and begun to stare in astonishment at the sight of a young woman of apparently sound mind addressing a crate of fruit.

"Thank-you," the fruit – the cantaloupes, that is – said.

"You're very welcome. Now, stop it, and come out of there!"

"I don't want to."

She crossed her arms and counted slowly and deliberately to ten.

"Apparently. Why not, exactly?"

"It's fun in here."

Wendy pondered this in a long moment of silence, rubbing her forehead in an effort to get it to stop aching at this interesting bit of child-logic. An art-form unto itself, really.

"In the cantaloupes," she finally said slowly.

"Yes," Junior confirmed.

She shrugged. Couldn't argue with this. After all, children did find some curious hiding places. She had had more than her share of them at his age. Well, not at his _actual _age, of course, but…oh, what on earth was she saying?! Thinking. Whatever.

"Junior! Get out here, now!"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I told you. It's fun in here."

"Be that as it may," she began through gritted teeth, "it is _not_ fun out here, getting odd looks from passers-by."

A giggle drifted forth from the crate.

Wendy stared.

"Junior…did you just…giggle?"

"I think so. Is that bad?"

"No, giggling is not bad. Hiding persistently in the produce section, however, is very bad. So, why don't you come out, and we'll go for some ice cream?"

"No, thank-you."

"Alright, no ice cream. Can you come out so we can go home, then?"

"No, thank-you."

She sputtered angrily.

"That wasn't optional!"

"I like it in here."

"So you've mentioned," she sighed.

Then, as a youngish woman with a thick ponytail of red hair and a little girl on her arm approached, Wendy blushed brightly and tried to look busy, picking up a cantaloupe and inspecting it before putting it down and selecting another.

"Mommy, why was that lady talking to the melons?" the little girl asked in a whisper that failed utterly to fulfill the main goal of a whisper in being unheard.

"Um, I don't know, honey. Maybe we should leave them to finish their conversation, though, okay?"

With that, the redheaded woman hurried away, shooting Wendy a look that clearly instructed her _not_ to follow them, or the police would be phoned.

"Junior, these people are starting to think I'm crazy! So, why don't you come out now before I get hauled away to weave baskets for the rest of my life, and you have to find your own ride home?"

"I know the bus routes."

Something snapped. Perhaps it was the loss of the one Saturday night that she otherwise would have had off in months, or perhaps it was her severe dislike of children reaching critical level. Whatever it was, the young woman saw red.

"Listen, you little bugger, get out here now, or I'm coming in after you!"

No response. Just as she rolled up her sleeves and prepared to set about scattering the floor of the supermarket with cantaloupes, a hand clamped down heavily on Wendy's shoulder.

"Excuse me, miss," said the stern-looking employee whose heavy-bearded face she found herself staring up into. "If you continue to verbally abuse our produce, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave our store."

She gritted her teeth.

"Of course. Sorry about that; I'll apologize to the cantaloupes, if you like."

Once he had gone, after replying that yes, he would like to see the cantaloupes get the apology they deserved, Wendy dropped to the tiled floor, expelling a long breath, and leaned back against the crate.

"Don't suppose there's any chance of you coming out _now_, is there?"

"No."

A pause.

"How about now?"

"No."

A longer pause.

"Now?"

Another pause.

"Okay, now."

With that, Junior reappeared through the crate and leaned back against it, next to the blonde woman, who now looked more tired than furious.

She eyed him curiously.

"What was different that time?"

Junior shrugged.

"I was bored in there."

She considered this for a long moment.

"You were bored."

"I was bored."

"I see. And what was the hiding all about in the first place?"

He looked down a little sheepishly.

"I thought that's what children _do_. I saw it in a book somewhere. And I wanted to be normal."

She nodded thoughtfully, before climbing briskly to her feet.

"Suppose I can't argue with child-logic. I've seen stronger people than me go insane trying."

"Are you going to tell Mr. Carpenter?"

"Am I going to tell Mr. Carpenter that watching a little boy in a supermarket was beyond my capability?" she repeated slowly. "No, I am not."

He nodded silently, examining the ground very carefully. She sighed.

"Well, it was fun while it lasted. Right, then. Ice cream?"

He eyed her doubtfully.

"I thought I only got ice cream if I came out right away."

Hmm. The boy had a point there. And it would never do to imply that poor behaviour was commonly rewarded by treats. A moment later, Wendy turned to Junior, mind firmly made up.

"Well, we'll pretend you did, then, shall we?"

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End Notes: Eheh…this was another one of those stories that just wouldn't go away until I wrote it down. That occasionally happens, as much as it really, really shouldn't. I think it was more the sort that evokes a half-smile or a weak chuckle than a real laugh, but hey. It passes some time, right? :o)

That aside, I am having severe conscience issues about posting so much stuff in this section. If anyone particularly minds my doing so, please let me know, either by review (geez…what I won't do for a review!) or e-mail. I don't anticipate it being a problem, but I've seen people in other sections get very upset over this. Thanks! :o)


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